


Influenza

by firelord65



Series: Tales from the Pit [20]
Category: Divergent (Movies), Divergent Series - Veronica Roth
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Prompt Fic, Sickfic, shortfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:48:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27519376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firelord65/pseuds/firelord65
Summary: Eric had the flu and Tris had to take care of him.Prompt fic
Relationships: Eric/Tris Prior
Series: Tales from the Pit [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2011174
Kudos: 5





	Influenza

**Author's Note:**

> Usernameherepls prompted: Eric had the flu and Tris had to take care of him.

Eric’s main downfall is how he just never knows when to quit. I can tell him a thousand times that things aren’t going to go the way he’s planned them and he won’t listen until everything’s seconds from crashing down around him. That’s how he lives his entire life from relationships to leading patrols. Sometimes he’ll luck out. Other times the consequences are right there with me to help teach him his lesson.

Like the time that he decided that it made sense to ignore the recommendations of those trained in water rescues and jump into the lake himself to save someone who went overboard. I had avoided joining the lake mission to begin with, choosing to remain back at base camp on the shore to man the radio. I had toppled the card table onto Christina and Lynn’s laps when the _Intrepid_ called in to notify that “Leader Coulter has gone overboard to rescue Corporal Marques.”

The last thing that I _really_ want to be doing is taking care of my idiot partner when he got sick from not waiting thirty seconds for someone in a wetsuit to jump in instead. Alas, the universe is a jerk, and I get stuck doing exactly that.

Eric flops over on the couch, his ninth re-adjustment of the hour. “I don’t get why this is taking so long to clear my system,” he grumbles. From how stuffed up his nose is, his speech is muffled. I have to count to ten. This isn’t the first time he’s made the same complaint.

“You jumped into Lake Michigan in January,” I retort.

He tries to glare at me but the duvet that’s pulled up to his chin takes out any fire there. Yeah, I have sacrificed my own beautifully insulated and downy soft duvet to keep him warm. I’m a softy at heart. “I was doing my job,” he insists. “Isn’t your job to make me feel better anyways? What’s with all the snappy comments?”

I leave my perch on the barstools by the cabinets to come by him. My hands on my hips, I stare down at him. “I get to be as snappy as I want. You’re taking up all the couch space. What do you need, oh sick one?” I ask.

His eyes flick to the empty bowl and glass on the coffee table. “S’more stew. And maybe a beer,” Eric said. I swear that he even tries to pout, just a little. It’s not as endearing as he thinks. Still I collect the dishes and add them to the small pile from breakfast earlier. Dragging them back downstairs to the mess was a hassle. I was going to make Eric bring them all down tomorrow when hopefully the medication would kick in and put him in a better mood.

“It’ll take a little bit. You’ll be fine while I’m down there?” I call over my shoulder.

His response is muffled by the duvet, and I question whether or not the red tinting his cheeks is from what he said or the fever. “I didn’t hear you,” I say.

Eric clears his throat. “Can you ask someone to bring up dinner?”

My hand drops from the door handle. “Why’s that?” If he’s going to be a pain, I’m going to make him explain every demand.

“I just don’t want you to go right now,” he admits. I weave my way back to the couch, sitting on the coffee table. I don’t know if he’s contagious or how much space he wants. Better safe than sorry.

He looks just so… overwhelmed by the plush duvet and the redness of his nose. That and the pale yellow which has overtaken his normal complexion gives me further pause from being quite so cruel. I give him a small smile and nod. “I’ll see if someone can. But it’s coming from a favor you owe them, not me,” I tease. I won’t actually keep that agreement. He’s sick. I can owe Marlene a shift just this once.

Eric matches my smile. “That’s fair,” he sighs. “I’ll pay the Prior Tax.”

“Prior Tax?”

The duvet shifts. I think he tried to lift a shoulder casually. “You know. The cost of good company. Prior Tax, Coulter Tax,” he says.

I laugh and shake my head. “I didn’t realize could have been charging people for my company. I should have been paying closer attention. Coulda been raking in a fortune.”

He flails around on the couch for a minute until he’s squished up against the back. A hand pops out from the blanket to pat the tiny strip of exposed cushion. “Sit with me? You’re so far away,” Eric asks.

“Sorry,” I say honestly. “The last thing I want is to be sick as a dog with you.” I do scoot the coffee table closer, though, so that he doesn’t have to talk louder than a murmur. His throat has been killing him.

“M’kay,” he grumbles. “See if I offer you couch space in the future.”

**Author's Note:**

> Previously a part of the "Tales from the Pit" compilation fic on my profile. Moving all of these to their own pieces in a series instead so they can be more accurately tagged on their own.


End file.
